


The Wind of Change

by Andúniel (Anduniela)



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Betrayal, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Mentioned Caranthir's Wife, Mentioned Finrod, Mentioned Fëanor - Freeform, The Banishment of Feanor, The Sword Incident, Trust, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:53:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26603269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anduniela/pseuds/And%C3%BAniel
Summary: When everything around him suddenly crumbles, Aegnor desperatly tires to save what he holds dear, but with tensions higher than ever before, can he succeed? A glance at Tirion right after the banishment of Feanor has been proclaimed.
Relationships: Aegnor & Celegorm, Aegnor | Ambaráto & Angrod | Angaráto, Aegnor | Ambaráto & Caranthir | Morifinwë, Aegnor | Ambaráto & Fingon | Findekáno
Comments: 15
Kudos: 9
Collections: Silmarillion Whump Bingo, The Tolkien Decameron Project





	The Wind of Change

**Author's Note:**

> One more fill for the Silmarillion Whump Bingo, at last. Prompt: betrayal; additional prompts: taunting, ~~big~~ little brother instinct.  
> I was inspired to flesh out this story by the Tolkien Decameron Project back in the spring, but then, um, didn't get around to actually post it until now 😅

Tirion was in a state of upheaval. 

When first the Thing had happened, there was much unrest among the most ardent sympathizers of both Nolofinwë and Fëanáro, but most people had been stunned into silence. 

Not so now. Now there was no way to quietly bide one's time, not after Finwë’s announcement the previous night, and so Aicanáro was walking through the streets of a city suddenly put on edge. 

Fëanáro had been given a month to remove himself to the place of his banishment, but, being Fëanáro, had immediately declared he would leave Tirion within two days. And so people were bustling to and fro and piles of goods were already mounted in front of some houses. Despite the usual warmth of the season, the air seemed somehow cold and instead of the usual chirping of birds in people’s gardens, there was a rustle of heavy objects being moved across the gravel and a nervous neighing of horses.

There was no more denying, a good portion of the populace was indeed forsaking the city and the further he went, the more strongly did Aicanáro suspect that his errand was in vain, but still, he pressed on, unable to stand the uncertainty. 

Having reached Tyelcormo’s house, Aico knocked, and when no response came, he simply let himself in. No-one came to greet him, and yet the hall was full, full of people packing. Chests were being pushed across the floor, hangings taken down, sculptures and vases carefully wrapped and carried away. Soon, he thought, there will be nothing left but empty walls.

Aicanáro espied Ahyar commanding from the middle of this commotion, and among those working were more than a few well-known faces: Wénië who would be responsible for his bedroom whenever he stayed the night, Netyar and Antarandur who usually accompanied Turco and Curvo on the hunts, and even Ruinion who was the first person to instruct him in the proper ways of dressing venison. Yet he noticed that while most were carrying their burdens away to be put into the carts he spotted through the open door leading to the side courtyard, some were obviously keeping their belongings apart, as if they were not leaving the city. 

Aicanáro stopped in the entrance for a few moments, taking in this whole scene, but none of his acquaintances took any notice of him. Or perhaps they just carefully pretended not to. He shrugged and simply started to walk across the hall, when-

"My lord!" A diminutive silver-haired girl hastily set down the box she had been carrying and dropped him a curtsey. 

“Where is your master?” he managed mildly. 

The girl hesitated for the slightest moment before replying, "The library-”

He did not wait for her to finish whatever she was going to say - probably an apology or a plea not to disturb his cousin, he really wasn't very interested at the moment - and made it upstairs, to the private part of the house, passing as he went even more servants carrying what looked like Tyelcormo’s clothespresses. 

In front of the library door Aicanáro took a few centering breaths, bracing for what he already suspected would be a difficult and unpleasant talk, knocked to give his cousin a warning, and entered. “Turco, could I-”

For the second time in the last few minutes, Aicanáro stopped dead in the entrance. Tyelcormo was indeed in the library, going through his books, but he was not alone. Bent over a huge chest, already half filled, was Carnistir.

At the sound of his steps both brothers turned towards the door, surprise clearly visible on their faces. “Aicanáro?!” exclaimed Tyelcormo.

Aico sighed inwardly. The talk was going to be even more difficult than he had expected. “Turco, could I speak with you?” he asked with the slightest emphasis on the final word.

“I’m really quite busy, Aico, but…” He gave a half-shrug, indicating they could talk as they were and passed Carnistir the book he had been holding this entire time.

Aicanáro bit his lip, exhaled loudly, looked around the room and finally decided there was nothing he could do. “Are… Are you all really leaving?”

The shift in the atmosphere was almost palpable. He could tell that Tyelcormo never really wanted to speak with him, but now the room became as frosty as the North, where his friend was intending to go.

“Well, you can hardly expect us to abandon Father in such a moment, now can you, Aicanáro?” said Tyelcormo matter-of-factly and in that moment he was so similar to Fëanáro that Aicanáro shuddered.

“I hoped-” Realizing he did not really know for what he hoped, Aico smiled ruefully. 

“Hoped we would stay?” said Carnistir and when Aico could not bring himself to deny immediately, he continued scathingly, “Why should we?! The King and his heir are both leaving and all true Noldor will follow.”

“ _We_ are staying,” said Aicanáro, driving his nails into his palm in an attempt to keep his temper at check, and silently begging Tyelcormo to take this talk somewhere private after all.

“No descendant of Indis is a true Noldo!” spat Carnistir, his infamous blush painting his scowling face. “And you half-bred brood least of all! Stay all you want, I say!”

Aicanáro looked to Turco, hoping his friend would defend him, but Tyelcormo remained motionless, standing with a stack of books in his arms, his face blank, and still Carnistir raged. “At last you show your true colors! You vermin, coming here unbidden and trying to sway my brother’s loyalty to his Father and his King! And that oh-so-gracious brother of yours has the cheek to come to my granaries as if he owned the place, and demand- can you imagine? demand of me the stock on behalf of the regent!” He tried to parody Findaráto’s earnest expression, but it dissolved into a snarl. “And do you know whom he brought with him? _Both_ the poor excuse for a minstrel _and_ the cheap flute maker.” Aicanáro glared at him, now more than anything angry on behalf of Ingoldo – both Edrahil and Ñolyano had accompanied Findaráto on what had been bound to be a highly unpleasant task out of a long camaraderie and did not deserve scorn, but Carnistir only scoffed, his tone changing rapidly. “You know, it’s actually quite _funny_. A jealous upstart for regent and a featherheaded social butterfly for provisions master. Who did actually choose-”

“Leave. Findaráto. Out. Of. This.” Aicanáro spoke through clenched teeth, his nostrils flared, blood rushing in his ears, and shaking so badly he was sure both his cousins had to notice.

“Why? The nitwit will have you all starve, no matter who’s helping out. Though that’ll actually solve the problem of trea-”

“Shut your dirty mouth!” Aicanáro snapped and tried to hurl himself on Carnistir to wipe that smug smile off his hateful face, but found himself encircled by a pair of strong arms, holding him firmly in place. He turned his head and realized the person restraining him was Angaráto, who, true to his word to come as soon as he could to support his brother, had arrived unbeknownst at some point during Morifinwë’s tirade.

“Careful, cousin,” Carnistir sneered from across the room, his voice laced with fake benevolence, “or you shall join us after all.”

Angaráto’s arms shook and tightened around his brother’s chest, when Tyelcormo, who had stepped protectively between them and his brother, his face cold and blank in a sharp contrast to the blushing and smirking Carnistir, flicked his hand in dismissal. "Just go. Leave my house."

“Come, brother. Let us not waste our breath any further.” Angaráto’s arms moved to guide him and with a final scathing look to the two Fëanárioni Aicanáro let himself be led out of the room and outside to the busy streets. 

***

Angaráto heaved a sigh of relief as the soothing trees and bushes of the great gardens surrounded them, cutting off the nervous hustle of the streets, and released his tight hold on Aico’s wrist. “Come, we are alone now.”

Aicanáro unclenched his jaw. “Miserable wretches, all of them! And to think we believed them friends!” He let his anger run unchecked, spilling forth a string of violent invectives on the heads of all their half-cousins, but especially Tyelcormo. “To think we lavished our time and attention on them, we thought them brothers almost and _how has he repaid me_?!”

Angaráto did not try to restrain him, knowing that it was better to let Aicanáro spend his energy before trying to offer any consolation, just followed him as he strode forward further into the gardens, violently brushing aside overhanging branches in his agitation. Finally, almost half way down the hill, Angaráto let loose the tight control under which he tried to contain his own emotions. “What a scum!”

But his expletive came to a sudden stop, when after one more turn Aicanáro almost collided with Findecáno, who had been wandering with his head bowed and kicking at the gravel with each slow step. “Pardon me, cousin.”

Findecáno took them both in and asked, “Who is the scum?”

“Turcafinwë.”

“Ah yes, one of Uncle Fëanáro’s sons.” There was an ugly twist to his lips as he spoke the word uncle. “I admit it seems almost good to have company in my misery.” He laughed bitterly and collapsed onto a nearby bench, the brothers sitting on each side of him.

Findecáno was still in the same clothes in which he had attended the trial, now stained with grass and more creased than he would ever be seen in in the city. It certainly answered the question of where he had been when all the rest of the family had gathered in an attempt to contain the crisis of a sudden lack of authority and clear leadership.

“He was my otorno,” said Findecáno, his tangled braids spilling over his shoulders as he shook his head. “He was dearer to me than my blood-brothers, and yet he cast it all aside in an instant. He doesn’t even try to see my point, all he says is ‘Father was humiliated, Father needs the support of all the Noldor’ as if it wasn’t _his_ father who put a blade to _my_ father’s throat, and for what? For Father’s love of Grandfather!” Angry tears had spilled down his cheeks during this tirade and he brushed them away jerkily. “Now I don’t even have a home to return to.”

“You haven’t-”

“Of course not, I wouldn’t stand one minute there. Do you know, he even accused me of being secretly glad to supplant him as the eldest in our generation…”

“Just what came over them?” said Aicanáro. “That is exactly what Morifinwë accused me and Ingoldo of, that we are usurpers who want to supplant the eldest house.”

“Morifinwë?” asked Findecáno in surprise.

“Yes, he was there when I came to speak to Tye- Turcafinwë.”

“Cemnamírë is staying, did you know?”

Both brothers were taken aback, so Findecáno continued:

“Well, unlike some people”–they knew immediately that he was referring to Maitimo’s proud declaration in the Mahanaxar that all of Fëanáro’s sons would follow him into exile–“she did not make her decision publicly known. But she informed him in no uncertain terms even before we all made it back to Tirion that she could not abandon her research now that it finally began to bring some fruit and start all over again in a completely different environment. Not good for the cohesiveness of the data, you see. But I don’t think she’s fooled him, she might have as well do as Aunt Nerdanel have done.”

“So news has reached even you here?” Nerdanel did not say a word in the Mahanaxar, but come morning she appeared, pale and red-eyed but otherwise perfectly composed at the impromptu council meeting, where she sat at Nolofinwë’s left hand. The news of the rift between the King’s eldest son and his wife spread through the city like wildfire.

The cousins now fell silent, contemplating the irrevocability of what had happened. In their city, in their family, in their hearts gaped a wound and it had the shape of each dear one that would soon be gone. Twelve years was both a long and but a short time, yet there seemed to be no way back to the happiness and safety from Before. Even though Nolofinwë had promised to forget all offences, it became clear that something was lost, though none knew yet that it was their innocence.

“Findecáno?” said Aicanáro at last. “I know I cannot take his place, but you can come live with me. The sons of Fëanáro have proven they are all cads who care for nothing but their own father, neither love, nor justice, nor long camaraderie. So I say,” his tone had been growing fiercer with each word and now he snarled, “Let them leave, the sooner the better, and Tirion will lack nothing in their absence. _We_ will lack nothing. What do you say?”

First wagons started to spill from the Western Gate of Tirion, but the cousins did not see it. The seeds of friendship sprouting form shared misery could not immediately fill the emptiness in their hearts, but they could make it a little easier to bear and so they dared hope again.

metta

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading and, good or bad, please tell me what you think 🙂


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